


Summer Rain.

by hennethgalad



Category: the lord of the rings
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25442047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: amuse bouche
Kudos: 2
Collections: Tolkien Gen Week 2020





	Summer Rain.

The rain dripped from the thatch, melting into the silvery torrent, thick as rushes, that filled the small courtyard. Eomer watched through the open door as the splashing puddle swirled around the drain, collecting fallen leaves and spinning straws and sucking them noisily away. He stretched and shifted the pillow more comfortably under his head and idly scratched at his chest hair with his other hand  
It was a day for idling; the horses content to rest and take time with their feed, while he listened to Folcwyn, Brytta's widow, as she sang over her baking. His uncle had taken him aside when his association with Folcwyn became known, and asked curtly whether he intended to become handfast with the mother of two fine lads. He had shaken his head, for though he had asked her to wed him, in a moment of deep emotion, he had been relieved by her laughing refusal. But she cared nothing for the gossips, saying, to their shocked faces, that they envied her the luck of having a strong young man to warm her bed. Eomer laughed, it had been her pride that first caught his eye.

He knew her, of course, she was of the kindred, her great grandmother had been the daughter of one of the kings, but he couldn’t recall which one. Folcwyn had not been seen in Meduseld since the death of Brytta, but her eldest boy was of an age to begin his training, though Eomer could not imagine that he himself had ever looked so small and so unlike a warrior. She strode up the hall, drawing all eyes in her wake, for her height, her grace and her great beauty, which time had not faded. Eomer, who had been leaning against a pillar at the foot of the steps, found that he was standing tall, alert as a hound to the whistle. Around him all the men had pulled themselves upright, with women peering over their shoulders and children round their legs. But Folcwyn did not glance aside, and Eomer marvelled at the smooth clear brow and the light in her eye. 

The courtyard gate opened and a hooded figure hurried in, closed the gate, darted for the shelter of the colonnade and threw off his cloak. Eomer, who had leaped out of bed, laughed with relief.  
"Theodred! In here! You look like a drowned cat!" He slid into his breeches and pulled a tunic over his head. Theodred came in shaking the rain from his hair, scattering cold droplets over the bare skin of Eomer's belly. He yelped, grabbed the pillow and started pounding Theodred about the shoulders, but Theodred lunged forwards and tackled him, and they wrestled until they fell off the bed onto the floor, knocking the jug and bowl on top of them and spilling water everywhere.  
Folcwyn hurried in and looked down at them, then laughed shortly "No apple dumplings until all this mess, and you two ruffians, are cleaned up!"


End file.
